The Bruised Gentleman
by claflower4
Summary: England is left with his thoughts after a severe beating from Scotland


"Ya look rather nice like that."

Scotland sneered, as he looked back toward the pile of mess that was once England. With a smug smirk, he slammed the front door, leaving the poor broken Englishman to fend for himself.

Was he dead?

No, his heart and head still throbbed loudly in his body. His blood still coursed through his veins even as it spilled on the floor.

He was still breathing despite it all.

What had he done to deserve this?

He closed his eyes as he thought of all the times he had been through this, of all the times he had been beaten by his siblings. Ever since he was born perhaps. Just because he was still a young country, did not mean they were any less merciful.

England smirked slightly before wincing it back down. Perhaps that was best for him. They taught him to be tough, to never let anybody see his tears. They taught him to never trust anyone, even your brothers.

'No...maybe America was the one who taught me that.' England solemnly added.

He opened his eyes and groaned at how blinding the light seemed. Though the floor felt soothing against his skin, he had to get up. A country always finds a way to get back up.

So with great difficulty, he moved on his back and tried to sit up.

Bad idea.

As he moved his torso upward, a sharp pain shot through his spine. He cried out as the pain paralyzed his body to the floor.

He couldn't move.

He couldn't get back up.

He tried to move his head to see exactly how much damage Scotland had done to him, but he couldn't move the right angle to see.

'All I can do is wait till someone comes I guess.' He thought logically.

_But what if no one came?_

England shook that thought from his mind. No, he can't think like that. Surely someone would come to visit him on business or maybe just to say hello. That frog-faced french man would come to tease him again, and then he'd see the sorry state he was in. He might even pity him and try to help.

Or maybe Japan would come to see his garden, bringing some snacks along with him. Knowing the Japanese man, as soon as he would see him on the floor in pain, he would immediately come and help him.

His fairy friends were at home in their world, but they might have started to miss him and would come back.

Even America...

England's eyes saddened as his mind reeled him back to reality.

France was in a meeting in Russia and wouldn't be back for days.

Japan would only come to visit if they had a previous appointment.

His fairies had told him they'd be home for a whole month. No exceptions.

As for America and his other colonies...they all hated him. They didn't have to say it. He saw it in their eyes and actions toward him.

"No one's here." He whispered to the air.

Maybe everyone hated him.

Soft tears formed at his eyes. He hated when he thought like this, he hated crying. At times like these, he would cry endless tears into the night and drink until his mind floated to a better place. Then the loneliness would subside until he would have to repeat the process again.

The salty water that formed in his eyes, fell softly on his cheeks. He whimpered in an attempt to wipe them away, but his arms felt heavy and wouldn't move. How disappointed Scotland would be.

The whimpers and shudders of tears turned to desperate cries and sobs. He knew it was pathetic, yet he couldn't care less. No one was there to watch him as he turned into mush. He was tired, hurting and lonely. So lonely.

"Please." He spoke in between his cries.

"Please anyone!" He yelled desperately to the air.

He shuddered at the sound of his weak voice and whispered.

"Help me."

The door that was shut so firmly by Scotland had opened again with a shinning new light hovering around it.

The person stepped in and gasped at the sight before him. With sad eyes he walked over to the now unconscious body and knelt down. Softly he studied the figure, brushing his hair across his face, before reaching down and picking him up.

As he walked to the owners bedroom, he whispered to the bruised, taunted, and tortured gentleman.

"I'm so sorry, England."


End file.
